


charm person

by gourmetpap3r



Series: concentration: required [2]
Category: Baldur's Gate, baldur's gate 3
Genre: M/M, Oh god the pining, Pining, background shadowstar (shadowheart/astarion) if you squint, gale realizes hes getting a crush fic, no beta we illiterate, whats sexier than wizards NOTHING
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:14:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29471532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gourmetpap3r/pseuds/gourmetpap3r
Summary: If one were to ask, Gale wouldn’t consider himself particularly impulsive.And yet, some nights sow doubt in his mind.
Relationships: Gale (Baldur's Gate)/Original Character(s), Gale (Baldur's Gate)/Original Male Character(s)
Series: concentration: required [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2147016
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	charm person

**Author's Note:**

> hi gay ppl here is almost 1800 words of pure gay pining from gales POV. this is more of a drabble than anything else and if you think the timeline doesnt make sense its because: it doesnt and i do what i want

Gale had learned to enjoy his own company over the years. Being a wizard kind of forced you to develop that trait, spending many hours alone in a room trying to perfect an incantation, staying up for days on end trying to balance your components. 

It was a lone study most of the time, save the few instances where you would meet up with other wizards to compare notes and then go your separate ways again. 

Which is why Gale had gotten very good at thinking; pondering about the smallest things to pass time. Especially as of late, having been abducted and dropped off far from home, with a stowaway passenger currently nestled deep within his brain. And lately, he’d been thinking about Marsh- more specifically about his confession.

He’d been thinking of how much trust Marsh had placed in Gale in order to tell him of his condition, of how confusing and terrifying it must’ve been to wake up with no sense of self or memories to boot. 

But most of all he’d been thinking of how much he wished he could alleviate it, deliver him from his stolen memories and allow the drow to continue with his life, unplagued by worry. 

The day following the confession Gale had watched Marsh, not necessarily more than normal but enough to notice how his eyes would drift downwards and his smile would fade, always when he thought nobody was looking. But the moment their eyes would meet, he would smile once more. Gale would notice the way the tip of his canines would gently rest against his bottom lips, revealing a slight overbite; charming, in its own right. Gale stopped his train of thought, this couldn’t be wise. This.. longing. They were in the midst of a possibly world shattering event, one that would lead to the deaths of many, possibly even including himself. 

If you were to ask him, Gale wouldn’t consider himself an impulsive person. The wizard had long prided himself on not only his resolve, but also his natural sense of self-preservation. He considered himself a person who, usually, would seek out the objectively best solution for the problem in front of him. At least, that was what he wanted to be. He had learned the hard way that love is one of, if not The, most powerful force on all of Toril; able to tear the very fabrics of ones very being apart at the seams. Being as well-read as he was, he should’ve known this fact long ago, before Mystra, before his metaphorical fall and before he had an ancient netherese orb feeding away at the absence in his chest. 

It can’t happen again. 

*

It was noon when they were about to head into the Goblin camp in search of Halsin, and though Gale didn’t doubt the abilities of the party, some part of him did anyway. They were outnumbered 10 to 1 at the very least, and somehow the wizard doubted they would get in and out with Halsin while managing to avoid a fight. 

Thankfully they were able to walk around the Selûne-temple turned Goblin camp without much issue, so long as they kept their weapons sheathed and their tongues held. 

He wondered aloud for a moment what state they’d even find Halsin in, and Marsh had responded that with their luck he’d be marinating in a cooking pot somewhere- enough of a twinkle in his eye that the wizard could tell the drow still had some semblance of hope.

Was Marsh hoping that Halsin could help him with his own issue? Gale figured the drow hadn’t told the others of his memory loss yet, but surely he wasn’t going to let the chance to talk with a renowned healer about his condition go to waste. The wizard wasn’t going to pry, obviously, so his questions remained unanswered.

*

Gale could feel the storm building within himself. In a metaphorical sense, of course, the sky was very much blue and the sun bright. But he felt weaker, the familiar sense of soon needing to calm the void feeding at his essence. He doubted the goblins had any magical artifacts they’d be willing to part with just from him asking nicely, and so he remained quiet.

None of the others had commented on it, but he was sure his visage was paling and it would only grow worse from now. He wasn’t foolish enough to assume that any druid, arch or no, could cure what ailed him, and they weren’t bound to run into anyone who could anytime soon. So perhaps lifting the curtains on his own condition was necessary, preferably sooner rather than later. He looked to Marsh, maybe it was time to place his trust in the rogue, like the other had the night before.

Trust, what a vague thing.

*

Gale was thankful for the rest the following evening provided, he’d managed to procure some actual cuts of meat to serve in a stew for the party and the proper food was very welcome in contrast to the porridge they’d had in the grove. Wyll and Lae’zel were busy planning strategy and Astarion was currently occupied in a PDA - pathetic display of affection - with Shadowheart, who seemed amused to say the least.

Marsh was off playing with an owlbear cub, having convinced the goblins to part with it for 200 gold and a few of the gemstones he’d collected over the last couple of days. The rest of the party had been wary of his decision to take it to their camp, but at the end of the day, it had been the decision that was made. Astarion had remarked that, once it grew big enough, the cub would probably attempt to kill them in their sleep. 

“Well, he wouldn’t be the first of us to try.” Marsh had replied and Astarion had shut up promptly.

Eventually Marsh had worn out the owlbear enough for it to flop down and fall asleep next to the fire, an adorable sight if not just as deadly. 

A wave of nausea hit Gale, like a heavy wave crashing into rocks, his vision blurred for a moment. How long had it been since he last consumed an artifact? The days seemed to blur together, but it had been all too long; a week at the very least? He sat down, hands clammy and breath short. He had tried to move far enough away from the party in order for them not to pick up on it, but he was certain that he wasn’t particularly subtle- seeing as Marsh approached him almost immediately after.

“Are you feeling okay, Gale?” He asked, sitting down next to the wizard and rubbing his back gently in comfort.

Gale pursed his lips, thinking. Maybe it was time to place his trust in the drow.

“There’s something I’d like to ask of you. I have to ask you to agree to this before we move on:” 

“Of course, anything.”

And so Gale told him; of his condition and his needs. Not of how it came to be - not yet; some secrets simply couldn’t be revealed. Nonetheless the other listened patiently, waiting for the wizard to finish his tale. 

And once he finished speaking, he felt an unfamiliar warmth as Marsh pulled him into a gentle embrace. “I’m sorry, that must be a terrible burden to bear. I’m glad you told me.”

The wizard hesitated before returning the embrace, a welcome comfort in the midst of all of this stress. He felt himself melt into the contact, rejuvenating like a full nights sleep he hadn’t had in a very long time. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and felt the muscles in his face relax. 

“You are a true friend. Like the sun following a long and harsh winter. Thank you.” He muttered, not even noticing he’d spoken before the words had already left his lips- lingering in the air between the two.

Marsh smiled.

If one were to ask, Gale wouldn’t consider himself particularly impulsive. 

And yet, some nights sow doubt in his mind. Like the brief spark of a flame in a pitch black room- all too bright and yet very welcome. You finally feel like you’re able to see clearly. 

Marsh was very much like the sun, in some sense. Bright and with some godsgiven ability to make people gravitate towards him. 

Maybe it was his colorful attire, maybe it was the way he was prone to blink slowly, feline in nature, making himself vulnerable. Maybe it was the permanent smile that seemed to adorn his visage, painted on whenever their eyes would meet. Yellow reflected in them like a field of marigolds. 

But tonight it was his very presence, and the embrace the two shared.

“Tomorrow, after we take care of the goblin leaders, we’ll look for an artifact. It’s a giant ancient temple dedicated to one of the biggest goddesses in Faerûn, surely there has to be something of use.” Normally this sheer optimism and reassurance would not serve to calm Gale down; he had heard many half-truths and half-lies in his life, only spoken out of some strange semblance of politeness. 

Yet something in the way Marsh delivered his words made Gale believe him wholly, however foolishly optimistic that might seem to his usual pragmatic self.

_Perhaps tonight is a night to be foolishly optimistic_ , he thought, as he felt himself linger in the healing embrace of the half-drow.

“I was going to make tea, but maybe we should open a bottle of wine, to celebrate tomorrow?” Marsh suggested.

_Don't sell the hide before you’ve shot the bear, Marsh_ ; _it’s not rational_ , Gale thought. “A bit early for celebration, maybe.” He paused, perhaps tonight was a night to admit that maybe Gale of Waterdeep, former prodigy and archwizard, wasn’t as rational as he once thought himself to be. “But why not?”

Marsh and him shared a toast to each other, and Gale smiled, feeling the familiar warmth of being drunk on wine moving from his chest to his fingertips. He scratched his beard gently, watching as Marsh’s eyes fixated on the contact between coarse hair and skin. He chuckled to himself and listened as the drow excitedly explained how he’d been able to recall a fond childhood memory earlier that morning. 

Listening to the rogue speak, it was like an impossibly heavy burden had been lifted off of his shoulders. 

*

By the time the two went to bed that evening, the campfire had already grown cold.

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> how are yall holding up its cold outside rn where i live. also can we all agree that gales beard is hot as hell >>>>


End file.
